


Woods Lovely, Dark and Deep

by B_does_the_write_thing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Revelry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_does_the_write_thing/pseuds/B_does_the_write_thing
Summary: In the Enchanted Forest, there is a path that no one dares tread, not even the bravest hero. Stories whisper about a danger that stalks amongst the trees, a nameless, faceless entity that draws any wayward traveler off the trail into the shadows never to be heard from again.-Nominated for Best Rumbelle Revelry in the 2017 T.E.A's-





	

**Author's Note:**

> For winterswanderlust who prompted doll, bump in the night, and graveyard.
> 
> She said AUs, and by god, you all know how I love a good dark AU. 
> 
> (Also that I am incapable of writing one shots less than twenty pages apparently- thanks to Prissygirl for beta-ing!)

_But I have promises to keep,_  
_and miles to go before I sleep,_  
_and miles to go before I sleep._

_-Robert Lee Frost_

\--

In the Enchanted Forest, there is a path that no one dares tread, not even the bravest hero. Stories whisper about a danger that stalks amongst the trees, a nameless, faceless entity that draws any wayward traveler off the trail into the shadows never to be heard from again.

Some say it is a creature. Others swear it to be a spirit of the trees, though a few scoff at this nonsense, claiming it’s nothing more than a mortal man gone mad. Still, the stories all have three things in common.

A flash of gold, a child’s giggle, and the smell of smoke.

\--

As dusk began to fall, Belle stood alone in a small graveyard, unaware that the light was fading fast. Her world had gone dark two days ago when her father had slipped away from her into the world beyond. The people of their small realm had been kind. Lord Maurice had been admired and respected if not beloved, but a successor had been named, and Lady Belle was now an orphan.

“Gaston will take care of you,” her father had gasped in his last moments. “He will love you as I have.”

Nonsense. Sir Gaston loved nothing so much as himself. Belle privately doubted he could love, though he was smart enough to have made a play for a lord’s daughter. If there was any silver lining in this, perhaps her father’s premature death would mean Gaston would call off the betrothal entirely. After all, Belle was merely another lady of the castle now, with nothing but a suitable dowry to her name.

“What’s this now, lamb?” came a croaking voice from behind her. Belle tore her eyes away from her father’s tombstone to meet the curious gaze of an old crone, nearly bent in two from age and toil. The beggar woman did not seem to notice Belle’s mourning clothes or fur cape, but peered up at her tear stained face as if she knew her intimately.

“It’s nothing,” Belle managed, smiling even as more tears pooled in her eyes. “I just couldn’t leave him...alone.”

None of the court had understood her bereavement, though they had clucked over her and petted her head as if she was a small child. She had stayed here after they all had left, loathe to part with her father and reluctant to return to the castle where her betrothed was waiting.

The woman clicked her tongue in a fond but exasperated sort of way. “It’s nearly the hour of the wolf,” she sighed, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky. “No time for a child to be out, much less a lady.”

“I’m no child,” Belle said indignantly, tearing her hand away from the woman’s grasp. “The King’s Road is but a short walk from here, and the castle a straight ride from there.”

The cloak covered the woman’s head, but as she bobbed up and down in hasty agreement, silver and white hair peeking out around her face. “True, true,” she croaked. “But you do not want to go back there, do you, lamb?”

The hag’s eyes were shrewd. Belle took a step away from the stranger, placing a hand on her father’s tombstone as if to seek reassurance. “Who are you?” she asked the stranger, her other hand clutched at her cloak as the air grew cool and the moon rose over the tops of the trees in the distance.

The crone's eyes grew black in the dimming light. “Just an old woman,” she crooned. “Tell me, lamb, what is it that you seek here at this grave? Forgiveness? Closure? Love?”

“Freedom,” Belle whispered, before clapping a hand to her mouth in horror. Where had that come from?

The crone’s eyes lit up and she shuffled forward until Belle had pressed herself flush against her father’s gravestone. “Yes, yes,” the woman muttered, lifting her pruned fingers to twist a lock of Belle’s hair around her knuckles. “You felt duty bound to be an obedient daughter. You loved your father enough to do what made him happy, but now he lies in a grave, and only now that he is gone...do you realize you are in a cage.”

Belle gazed back down at the woman in mystified disbelief. “How do you know that?” she asked her. Her initial fear had faded, now curiosity and an odd sort of hope blossomed in her chest as the woman gave her an eerie smile.

“I’ve seen it before,” the woman said, nodding sagely. “You are beautiful, any fool can see that, but tell me, little lamb, are you brave?”

Belle blinked. “Who are you?” she repeated bending down slightly to get a closer look at her.

The crone’s face split into a toothy smile, the teeth damaged and blackened with age and neglect. “A poor beggar woman,” she replied. “Another woman who time and misery has bent to their will.”

The phase was familiar, a tickle at the edge of Belle’s memory before it finally clicked into place. “You’re a witch,” Belle realized, straightening rapidly. Witches were not uncommon in this world, though Belle had never met one personally. They were best avoided as they were known to be mercurial and temperamental.

The witch laughed, and straightened, throwing off her cloak to reveal the elegant gown she wore beneath it. Her hair was not silver and white, but the color of a raven’s wings with ribbons woven throughout the long braid that fell nearly to her waist. The wrinkles melted away until the face Belle gazed into was as youthful as her own. The eyes through, the eyes betrayed the witch. They reflected years and years of wisdom far beyond her now youthful appearance.

“Well, well, not a lamb, after all,” the sorceress sang, touching Belle’s cheek with a fingertip. “Brains and beauty, what an unexpected combination.”

Belle remained silent. Around them, night had truly fallen, and only the moon’s light illuminated the small graveyard around them. In the distance, the trees swayed in the evening breeze, creaking in a forgotten melody that sounded like someone whispering.

“You seek escape?” the sorceress asked, folding her arms regally over her chest. “Adventure in the great wide somewhere?”

Belle nodded carefully. Witches were one things, but the woman before her was much more than that, not just any witch could change her appearance on a whim. She would have to be very careful if she wanted to get out of this alive and not cursed.

“Well, I have just the thing for you,” the sorceress said, her face breaking into that same toothy grin. This time, her ruby red lips parted to reveal sharp teeth, a predator’s smile. “A simple favor, and in return, I’ll free you from your cage.” Belle waited patiently, not daring to so much as breath as the witch pointed towards the nearby trees. “Have you ever been into the Enchanted Forest?”

No one willingly entered the Enchanted Forest. Stories had been passed down from generation to generation of the oddities and mysteries that lurked beneath the canopy. Children disappearing in the blink of an eye, maidens getting lost never to be seen again, bones of heroes found strewn along the edge of the forest as a warning. Only the foolhardy, desperate, or unaware soul entered those woods.

“No, my lady,” Belle said, sinking into a small curtsey. She kept her eyes averted, trying to think of a way out of this mess that did not involve her entering those woods.

“Pity,” the sorceress sighed. “We shall have to remedy that. After all, fortune favors the bold.”

“My lady?” Belle said, risking a quick look up from under her lashes. The sorceress was polishing her nails on her black and red gown, almost as if she had forgotten Belle was still there.

“There’s an apple tree in the center of the woods,” the sorceress told her. “Fetch me one, and bring it back here to me.”

An apple? Belle did not rise from her curtsey, though her legs had begun to shake and her neck cramped. “Would any apple suffice?” Belle asked, thinking of the orchard back at the castle where apples were about to fall from the trees.

“Certainly not,” the sorceress huffed. “It’s not called the Enchanted Forest for nothing. Now, be off with you.”

\--

Within an hour of entering the woods, the moon was high overhead, shining down through the leaves to make a silvery glittering path on the forest floor. Belle stepped lightly around fallen branches, moved carefully over roots and walked quietly on top of the carpet of leaves. Her cloak dragged behind her, calling after her as her skirt’s hem whispered around her ankles.

As for Belle, her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her eyes bright with interest, and her heart thundering in her chest with equal parts fear and excitement. She had left her grief at the graveyard; there was no room for it here in the wilderness.

Belle walked on, keeping a careful eye out for anything that might move in the deep, dark shadows where the moon could not see. The sorceress had been vague, but had advised her to follow the moon, and though Belle did not know if that would prove helpful or harmful, she found the soft light comforting.

Keeping her eyes on the shadows around her, she did not notice the doll until it was underfoot. Her foot sank into softness, and though she almost pitched forward in surprise, she caught herself by grabbing a nearby trunk as she whirled away from the mysterious object.

It was an odd thing, with black buttons for eyes, hay for hair, and bright red thread stitched upside down in a frown. “Hello there,” Belle murmured, bending down to pick it up. It was well worn, soft to the touch with no signs of being out in the elements. It was still slightly warm, as if it had been dropped by a child moment’s ago. Belle looked around, but there was no signs of any other soul.

She debated whether or not to put it down, but its black button eyes seemed to look up imploringly at her, and in the end, she slipped it into her clock’s pocket and continued into the forest. She did not see the shadows shift behind her, or see the glitter of gold as it disappeared after her.

\--

“Drat,” Belle grumbled, wrinkling her nose up as she gazed in frustration at the fork in the road. To her left, the moon filtered into a crooked, angled bend and to her right, it went straight on into the woods beyond. “Which way?” Belle asked the night, as she surveyed first one way than the other.

“Whatever way you think best!”

For a heartbeat, Belle almost thought the doll was talking. Then, she tilted her head upwards, and saw the eyes gleaming down at her from the tree before her. A man crouched on the lowest limb, bouncing slightly which made the branch shiver and shake, some leaves twirling down to join their fallen brethren at its roots.

He swung around the branch, until he hung upside down, his hair hanging straight down from his head, as his black and crooked teeth snapped into a facsimile of a smile. His skin was a murky grey in the shadows, but his eyes were bright yellow, the color of corn on an autumn day. She noticed this because they were unblinking, staring straight at her as if he could see through her.

Not a man, then, judging by the way it wasn’t even holding on to the branch.

“Dear me, dear me,” it crooned, swaying its head to an unheard melody. “What’s a lady doing in out here in my woods all alone, hmm?”

“My apologies,” Belle said, sinking into a quick curtsy. “I did not mean to intrude.”

Though it took no more than a heartbeat, when she straightened, the creature was standing in front of her, craning his neck so his ear touched his shoulder.

“My, my,” it giggled, and had Belle not been looking right at it, she would have thought a child had made the sound. “What manners!”

It snapped into a deep bow, and Belle had to rear back to avoid being head-butted. She ended up on her backside, staring up at the creature as it prowled towards her. “Now, now,” it giggled, hands coming up to rub together in delight. “What a treat, a lady for little ole me.”

It was as if she was frozen, as if her limbs had forgotten how to move, even her heart slowed as if lulled into complacency and her eyelids grew heavy as if sleep was coming for her, not this monster. As her muscles went limp, her arms collapsed to her side and she slid back onto the soft earth, her cloak falling open ever so slightly.

A hiss, and a growl, and suddenly, Belle could move again. She sat upright rapidly, to find the creature back in the tree, spitting furiously. “Thief!” it snarled. “Where did you get that?”

Standing shakily, Belle looked down to find the small doll she had discovered back on the trail peeking out from her cloak edge. She plucked it free, and the creature hissed again in outrage. “This?” Belle asked it, raising it so it could better see it. Long fingers reached out from the tree but Belle pulled the toy back to her before the creature could seize it.

“Mine!” it howled. “Thief!”

Belle glanced from the doll to the creature in the tree, her mind processing the events rapidly. She had been moments away from some very nasty sort of encounter, but the second the creature had noticed the doll, it had retreated. It had failed to take it by force, so Belle decided to press her luck.

“I found it,” she said with a small shrug. “Is it worth something?”

The creature did not respond, but eyed her balefully from the tree.

“Oh well,” Belle said, stuffing it back into her cloak pocket. She walked straight up to the tree until she was directly below it. Her heart was racing, fingers twitching and legs shaky, but she stayed there immobile, waiting to see what it would do.

“Best hand it over,” the thing warned her, making no move to touch her though Belle could hear its teeth grinding. “It’s worth nothing but trouble.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that,” Belle said, fingers stroking the rough hay hair. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s the only thing keeping you from harming me. You’ll excuse me if I hold on to it for the remainder of my time here.”

“How about a deal then?”

 Belle turned on her heel so she could stare up at it. “A deal?” she repeated.

It hopped down from the tree to stand before her. It had the shape of a man, a slight build only slightly taller than herself, but its eyes were slanted and its fingers were long and curved into talons. “You don’t seem lost,” it said, peering at her. “A quest?”

“Of sorts. I’m looking for an apple tree,” Belle told it. “If you take me there and escort me safely to the wood’s edge, I’ll give this back to you.”

Its face grew dark. “What does the lady want with one of those apples?” it demanded. 

“That’s my business,” Belle said pointedly, and was pleased to see it blink in astonishment. “So, what is it to be?” 

“No deal,” it replied, crossing its arm. “You’ll die sooner or later, and then I’ll pluck it from your cold, dead hands.” 

“Ah,” Belle said with a smile. “So you can't touch me as long as I have it?” 

It opened its mouth and then closed it with a growl. “Clever,” it grumbled, though the way its eyes narrowed looked very similar to grudging admiration. 

Despite the chill, the creature seemed unfazed by the dropping temperature, even as Belle wrapped her cloak tighter around her. “What’s it to be?” Belle asked, attempting to sound imperious. “Show me the way or hope for the best?” 

It surveyed her for a moment, and then, grunted in agreement. “This way,” it said without preamble and promptly disappeared down the left path. The right winked out of existence as if by magic, and Belle hurried after it, with only a quick glance behind her. 

\-- 

Her reluctant guide led her through the night. Some moments he was as quiet as her shadow, others he chirped and chattered to no one in particular, and once, when Belle had been muffling a yawn, he had looked directly at her and imitated her yawn mockingly. 

“I’m tired,” Belle protested, feeling oddly disgruntled by her guide’s unexpected childish behavior. Her eyes skated over the razor sharp talons dangling at its side, and the sharpened fangs of its black rotted smile. “It’s been...it’s been a very long day. Are we nearly there?”

It let out a surprised giggle. “My, no,” it told her. “We haven’t even come close.” It lifted it’s talons and began to recite. “There’s the Cliffs of Cruelty, the River of Rage, and not to mention the Valley of the Vague.” 

“You’re making those up,” Belle said curtly, crossing her arms over her chest to resist the urge to shiver as the wind ghosted across the back of her neck. “You better not be leading me in circles,” she warned it. “I’m not some young maid you can lead astray in the woods.” 

It snorted. “Course you’re young,” it told her. “Barely old enough to know the taste of life. Tell me, have you ever seen death?” 

Her father’s face flashed in her eyes, pale and taut as sickness stole away his strength and self. “I have,” she said, tilting her chin regally. 

“Have you tasted loss?” it pressed, moving closer to her. 

The tang of salt stung her dry mouth, the memory of her tears when they had told her the news. She had been thirteen, on the cusp of womanhood, and in the moment it took for a thunderbolt to startle a horse, her mother was taken from her. “I have,” she repeated. 

“Have you known hopelessness?” 

The sound of the women chattering about her, moaning she would be a beautiful bride even in black floated over to her in the odd silence of the woods. The bark of Gaston’s braying laugh, the way her spine went cold at the sound of her name on his lips, all noises she never wanted to hear again. 

“I have heard it ringing in my ears so loud I thought I would go deaf with it,” Belle shot back. 

“So, you are familiar with horror?” her guide cackled, clearly enjoying her mounting annoyance. “I’ve smelt it on the wind, ash and embers of things burning in the distance, the stench of unwashed bodies and the odor of rotting flesh. What does a lady know of such things?” 

“I’ve smelled a man in his cups,” Belle replied evenly. “I have breathed in rot and decay in a mockery of a kiss, inhaled sweat and the reek of unwashed flesh of knaves parading as knights and sirs.” 

“You are sheltered,” it muttered, and Belle felt the same sensation she had before, of feeling drowsy and content, warm and safe, so that all her muscles began to relax and unwind despite her chill, her exhaustion, and her task. “An innocent walking in the woods, a wee lamb frolicking in the butcher’s yard, a mouse underneath a cat’s paw. You have never so much as touched depravity.” 

Touch. 

Belle’s left hand curled about the doll, and the spell seemed to break. Her vision cleared, and Belle shook her head, clearing the last of the magic from her person. “Stop doing that,” she told the creature crossly. “It’s cheating!” 

“Cheating?” it grunted as Belle pushed past it to continue on the moonlit path. “Says a thief!” 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Belle sighed, stopping to spin around. There was no one on the path behind her now, and for a second, she stared in puzzlement at where her guide had stood seconds ago. There was the faintest smell of sulfur on the air, and the sensation of someone standing directly behind her caused goosebumps to erupt across her skin. 

“Look here,” it whispered from just behind her, it’s breath tickling the curls around her ear. “You will give me what is mine sooner or later.” 

“Course I will,” Belle said, without turning around. “Once you get me to the apple tree and back to the edge of the woods.” 

She spun on her heel, and marched straight past it without another look. 

It’s muttered cursing were the only other sound beside the crunch of her steps on the leaves underfoot. 

\-- 

They passed stony ridges and over fallen trees only to arrive at a small creek. Belle glanced around, looking for a suitable crossing, but the river gleamed silver and black, its reflection mirroring the sky overhead. The current ran fast and who knew how deep. 

The smell of sulfur returned and when Belle blinked, it had disappeared from her side. “Come, come!” her guide cackled, now perched safely on the other side of the river. It looked entirely too pleased with itself, dry as a bone. 

Belle ignored it, gathering up her skirts and cloak as best she could. “It’s only a little brooke,” Belle told herself, placing a toe carefully in the water. As soon as it touched her slipper, a dagger of ice shimmied down her spine and it took all her self control to continue. 

As her slippers grew sodden, and the chill bit at her ankles mercilessly, Belle wavered as the deceptive current tugged at her calves, willing her to come with it into the darkness beyond. She concentrated on taking one step at a time, shifting her foot under the water to find the next sturdy step, despite the mossy, slick creek bed. 

“Tick, tock!” it sang and Belle’s knuckles whitened as she tightened her hold on her skirts, imagining it was the creature’s neck instead. She did not have a lot of experience in the woods, but she had read enough books on exploration and hunting to know one had to keep their mind on what they were doing at all times lest- 

Something wrapped around her ankle. Belle shook her leg, trying to dislodge it but whatever it was grew tighter. Grumbling, Belle lifted her leg out of the water, just enough to see long scaled fingers, webbed and a sickly rotting green color before the unseen assailant tugged her leg sharply back down. Belle only managed to let out a small gasp, before she fell backwards into the water, which had suddenly grown deep enough to submerge her entirely.

She must have been passing near a hole, her mind supplied helpfully as her lungs began to scream for air. Her skirts and corset made even the slightest swimming difficult. As her cloak billowed out around her, Belle lost sight of the surface entirely. She twisted and jerked, and the hand let go of her leg. 

A moment of relief, before a skull like countenance drifted into her view. The river dweller had a protruding jaw, bulbous white eyes that looked like empty sockets above the gaunt, high cheekbones. Ratty, black tendrils of hair floated behind it and over the scaled, uncovered breasts of the Rusalki.

Belle went utterly still, as the creature open it’s wide, horrible mouth and row after row of sharpened teeth appeared. Rusalki saw through vibrations in the water, if Belle remembered correctly, so she could either drown or get eaten alive. 

The water demon’s gills quivered as she moved her head side to side, the webbed hands slowly reaching out as if to caress Belle’s face. Belle squeezed her eyes shut, and just as she couldn’t hold her breath a second longer, she gasped for air. 

To her complete surprise, she sucked in a lungful, and nearly choked on the coldness of it. There was solid ground under her back, and something was nudging her legs. Her eyes flew open to find her guide peering down at her, making a distasteful expression. “Ought to be more careful,” it told her, craning its neck the other way. “Do you still have it?” 

Belle opened her mouth to tell it exactly what she thought about it saying anything after it had nearly gotten her killed, but snapped her mouth closed as she produced the doll from her cloak. It was as soaked as she was, hay dripping pitifully and water having deflated the stuffing so it lay limp in her hand. 

Her guide made a strangled noise, and in the next moment, the doll was completely dry, and by extension so was she. Belle looked down, plucking at her cloak and curls to find them as warm as if she had been laying the afternoon sun. “What are you?” she asked her guide, clutching the odd doll it treasured to her chest. 

“There’s no name for something like me,” it told her as she struggled back up to her feet. “I am simply...me.” 

Belle eyed him carefully, but he did not move from where he was standing. “Thank you for...saving me,” she said. “I didn’t realize there was Rusalki in these parts.” 

It snorted. “Where else would they be?” it asked her. “This is the last untouched woods in all of Avonlea. We wee beasties have to go somewhere to avoid you nasty humans. Ungrateful, reckless, heedless mortals.” 

Belle frowned at him. “I said thank you,” she reminded him crossly. “Though we could have avoided the entire incident if you had just magicked me over the creek with you.” 

It smiled. “It wouldn't been nearly as interesting,” it said, splaying its hands out before it in mock humility. Belle shook her head, but she could not resist the small smile that tugged the corner right part of her lip.

After all, it had a point. It wasn’t everyday that a lady saw a real life Rusalki.

\-- 

The other side of the creek proved to be a much more difficult experience. The unseen path weaved through copses of trees, up rocky hills and back down the slippery sides, and round and round in circles.

“How long have we been walking?” Belle said, stopping to hide a yawn threatening to crack her jaw. “It must be nearly morning!”

It gave another of its eerie little laughs, but plopped down under a nearby tree, and propped up against it. “Time doesn’t work the same way here, dearie,” it told her. Its arms went over its head as if it was settling in for a nap. Belle gratefully collapsed nearby, careful to check her tree before she sat below it. 

From here, she could make out a small gap in the tree tops to her left. She tilted her head back and the moon’s light touched her upturned face, eliciting a small grin despite her sore feet and aching calves. “It’s beautiful here,” she murmured, half to herself, half to the woods. 

Her companion snorted. “Deadly things are often beautiful.” 

“Yes, well, of course, they are,” Belle replied, still gazing up at the sliver of moon. “Look at some of the most coveted things in the world. Why, dragon eggs are worth more than most kingdom’s treasuries, and I know plenty of noble lords and ladies who have disappeared at sea searching for mermaids. There’s something pleasurable in beholding innocent things, but even roses have thorns.” 

When she glanced over at it, it was staring back at her with a confused look on its face. She raised her brow back at him, silently daring him to contradict her when a nearby shuffle drew both their attention. 

Two piercing red eyes stared back at them from the dense bushes up ahead. Belle moved to get to her feet, but it held a hand up to stop her. It made no sound, but in the time it took to blink, it was at her side, standing over her as it scowled into the bushes. 

As if sensing a challenge, the red eyes grew closer, revealing a shaggy, filthy creature on all four legs. Wicked yellow teeth gnashed at them, salvia dripping from its jowls as the werewolf reared up its back legs, twitching its muzzle before throwing its head back in a joyless howl. 

Belle could not see her companion’s face, but stayed where she was. Whatever her guide was, it could probably do more than she could against a werewolf. After all, such creatures had been thought extinct for centuries, though there was no denying one stood before them now. 

More urgently, if the old tales were to be believed, magic had no effect whatsoever on werewolves. If only Belle could recall their so called weakness….it had been something….something rare. 

Her guide’s hands flexed at its side, as if it was considering attacking the creature with its bare hands. “Silver,” Belle remembered, grabbing for the clasp around her neck. She tore it free of its bindings and reached up to hold it out in front of them. Her guide grabbed for her to pull her back, and ended up clutching her small hand in its large palm. 

Even as the werewolf dropped back down to its feet, Belle took a moment to stare at where her hand was enveloped in the creature’s larger hand. Despite the talons and the scales, it was warm, and calloused. It flexed around her own fingers as if it had forgotten what it felt like to be touched. 

“Werewolves are only susceptible to silver,” Belle said urgently, turning back to find the werewolf creeping ever closer. The wolf seemed to anticipate they were up to something, eyes fixed on the creature, assuming it to be the alpha. It twitched its nose again, revealing the sharp fangs once more. 

With a twist of her guide’s wrist, Belle’s ornate silver clasp shaped itself into a pointed arrowhead. As if sensing the magic, the werewolf attacked. It bounded towards them, jaws snapping wildly. Belle’s companion pushed her backwards, knocking her breathless as she careened into the tree, but the loud growling changed into a startled yelp and there was silence once more. 

Belle twisted around, clutching the tree to find the werewolf gone. In its place, a naked body lay, pale against the forest floor, still in death. She felt rather sick, and clutched a hand to her stomach as the leaves under the body grew dark with blood. 

“It's just death,” her companion said quietly, standing over the body, toeing it with it makeshift boot. It turned its eyes to her, and for a moment, Belle thought it was about to say something scathing, but it surprised her. “Thank you,” it said finally, looking down at the silver sticking out of the dead man’s chest. “I had forgotten...silver.” 

Something in the way it said forgotten drew Belle’s attention. “Have you..always been here?” she asked it quietly. The bark underneath her palm was rough and a small sting of pain hinted that she had cut herself in her fall. She ignored it, watching as the thing before her looked down at itself, as if trying to remember. 

“No,” it said finally, as if very far away. “Once, I was something quite like you...a man, I think. That was...a long time ago.” 

Belle’s breath caught in her throat. Her companion’s face had shifted and the wild look it had worn through the evening faded slightly, as if the man he used to be was showing through. His odd hair softened, lightened to a mousy brown, and his skin looked almost pale as his eyes softened and darkened. 

A second later, the moon shifted and the moment was lost.

“Come,” he said brusquely, and hurried off, stepping over the body as if it was another tree root.

Belle wavered a moment, her cloak flapping open uselessly before she slid it off. She took the doll from the pocket and tucked it in her bodice. As she moved past the deceased, she covered it with her cloak and said a silent prayer. The face of the stranger was turned away from her, but it looked peaceful, as if he had just fallen asleep. She memorized it best she could, feeling she owed at least that to this soul. She had never helped kill someone before...she wasn’t sure how to feel but surely...surely she was supposed to feel some sort of guilt. So, why didn’t she? 

Up ahead, her guide waited, silently though impatiently.

There was still far to go.

\-- 

Over the course of the next leg of their journey, Belle distracted herself by trying to guess what the sorceress wanted with the apple. It was obviously incredibly valuable, and a dangerous enough journey even the most powerful dared not attempt it. Belle had never read anything about Enchanted Apples, and she could do no more than theorize and wonder. 

They continued on in silence. Despite the cold, her aching legs, weary eyes, and empty stomach, Belle refused to make a peep of complaint. After a while, her fingers practically blue and her jaw exhausted from holding yawns back, Belle’s stomach decided it had enough. With a rumble loud enough to wake the dead, it announced she had not eaten in over forty eight hours. Grief had numbed her, but something in the multiple near death experiences tonight had brought her appetite back with a vengeance. 

“You’re hungry.” 

Her guide stood beside her, as if he had been there the entire time. Belle had gotten used to this little trick and barely twitched. 

“A little,” she admitted with a rueful grin. “Any chance we’re close to the apple tree?” 

He shook his head, but pointed at a nearby bush. They had been passing ones like it all evening. It had long limbs, all dripping with flowers shaped like hearts. “Those are not edible.” 

She couldn’t help but grin at the announcement. “I see,” she said solemnly, nodding for emphasis. “Is something else nearby edible by any chance?” 

He peered at her, not quite sure if she was joking or not. “Behind it,” he said, jutting his chin out. “The berries on its sister bush. Bit sour for my tastes.” 

That was all Belle needed to her. She quickly gathered a handful, though she stained her fingertips bright red with the juices of the berry. She wiped it on her black skirt, feeling a bit wicked and emboldened as it left a sticky residue on the rich fabric. She popped a berry in her mouth, and nearly dropped the handful as the sharp tartness invaded her every sense. 

“Ow!” she cried, flicking her tongue out to try and dispel the strong taste. “They’re terrible!” 

“Warned you,” he said with a shrug, leaning over to grab one from her palm. He threw it in his mouth and chewed noisily, before winking at her as he opened his mouth to show the berry had stained his teeth bright red. 

Belle sighed, and with a resigned motion, threw the entire lot in her mouth all at once. In for a penny, she figured, before the awful, terrible, searing sensation nearly made her sight go black.

“Spit them out!” he exclaimed, pounding her back as she bent nearly in two, wheezing for air. “Out! Out!” 

Belle obliged, spraying the forest floor and her companion’s legs with half chewed berries as the flavor brought tears to her eyes. “Stupid, stupid, girl!” he was saying, though he managed to grip her chin, prying her jaw open so he could peer into her mouth. “That many at once will burn a hole straight through those pretty little lips of yours!” 

Belle winced, wanting nothing more than to grab a fistful of dirt to numb the painful stinging in her mouth. “You said they were edible!” she accused him, annoyed at the tears on her cheeks. 

“Didn’t expect you to swallow a whole bushel at once,” he shot back, and Belle stilled as she realized he was still cradling her jaw. This close, Belle could see the thin set of his lips and his crooked nose. He did appear human, despite his odd eyes, rotting teeth and scaled skin, and when he was focused, when the odd madness receded from his voice, there was something in his eyes that was almost approachable. He released her, stepping back grouchily. “Eat no more than ten, one at a time,” he told her, waving a finger at her. “Don’t move from this spot.” 

“Where are you-?” 

She didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. In the next moment, he was gone and the scent of sulfur and wisp of smoke was all that remained. Belle glared at the bush, before sighing. 

She supposed there was worse things she could eat. 

\--

Something soft touched her cheek.

Finally warm, Belle ignored it, curling into herself further. After she had forced down eight or so of the berries, she had felt too tired to stay on her feet a moment longer. The ground had been cold, but she had piled some leaves into a nest of sorts, and when her guide still hadn’t returned, she let herself close her eyes. Just for a moment.

The pressure intensified slightly, still no more than a soft touch. It was warm, so Belle leaned into it slightly without opening her eyes. As her cheek came into contact, a warm, pleasurable sensation started through her system, though unlike her guide’s odd hypnosis, this seemed to be doing the opposite. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed into the warm, brown eyes of her father. 

“Belle, sweetheart,” he murmured, smiling down at her. He crouched beside her, like he had so often when she was young, oblivious to the damp and the cold. 

“Papa!” Belle cried, throwing her arms about him. He was warm, and solid, and hale. His arms wrapped around her as well, nearly lifting her off the ground entirely in his embrace. She laughed in dizzy relief, clutching his shirt in great handfuls. “Oh, Papa, I thought-” 

It came spinning back to her. The coughing, the fatigue, the slide into sickness, the deliberating battle, and then finally, the end. Belle did not let go of her father, but breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar scent of him. It couldn’t be her father… and yet it was. 

“Belle?” he asked, gently prying her off until he could look down at her. “Is something wrong?” 

She searched his face, but found no malice, no sickness, no sign that it was not her father. Still, something nagged at her, something felt not quite right, though she could not place it. “No,” she said, shaking her head, before grabbing him for another hug. He returned it, his surprised laughter music to her ears. 

He helped her off the ground, and as she brushed leaves and dirt off her, he looked down at her fondly. “Sweetheart, what are you doing out here? This is no place for a lady.” 

“Oh, Papa,” Belle replied, reaching for his hand. “It’s the oddest story. I…” she faltered, trying to remember. She looked around the woods, confused and uncertain. “I...I was looking for something,” she said to herself, wrinkling her forehead in thought. “I just can’t remember what.” 

“Well, then,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Let’s get home then, before you freeze.” 

As if in answer, a shiver went down her spine, and she let him guide her away from her small nest. They passed a familiar looking bush, red flowers dripping like hearts, but Belle could not place why it stood out to her. Had she been out here picking flowers? Where was here?

“Papa,” she said, stumbling to a stop. “Wait. Something’s...wrong.”

His grip tightened on her as he looked down at her in worry. “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, looking around protectively.

Belle shook her head. “I don’t know...just something...something doesn’t feel right.”

“Course it doesn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re nearly blue with cold. Let’s get you back to the fire.”

She nodded hesitantly, letting him guide her. As they walked, she looked down at their feet, but as every moment passed, the feeling abated. Everything was fine, she reprimanded herself. She had just gotten lost in the woods. 

“Girl?”

“Papa?”

He looked down at her with a curious look, though he did not stop moving. “What is it, dear?” 

“Did you say something?” 

He shook his head, hand tightening on her shoulder. “Must have been the wind,” he shrugged. “Hurry, we’re almost there.”

“Girl.”

“There it is again!” Belle said, trying to turn around. Her father’s fingers dug into her flesh, and he nearly lifted her off the ground as his speed increased. “Papa!” she cried in surprise. “Stop, you’re hurting me!”

“Girl!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw a golden figure, crouched on the ground, shaking something covered in leaves. She turned to see what was going on, but there was nothing there. Her father dragged her onwards, looking harassed. Belle dug her heels in the ground, flinging his arm off her and hurried back to where she had seen the odd vision.

“Papa, someone’s here!” she told him, sinking to her knees in the odd pile of leaves. She searched through it, lifting big handfuls and flinging them to the side. “Help me! Help me find them!”

Something seized her by the shoulders, and when Belle looked up, her father was white as a sheet, eyes black as coal and lips red as blood. He unhinged his jaw, and Belle would have screamed if she had the breath.

Something else had a hold of her left hand now, something warm, and slightly calloused and it was tugging her, gently, gently, as if it was calling her home. She lunged to the left, and an anguished howl echoed in her ears as she knocked her odd little guide over as she tumbled back awake.

Belle clung to her rescuer, laying atop of him and sobbing as the nightmare evaporated around her. The cold, the ache and the hunger all came crashing back so she clung even harder to the odd creature who had brought her back. She buried her head in his shoulder to hide her face.

“Hush, hush,” he crooned, and stroked her hair uncertainty. He continued to murmur to her as if she was a small child, and Belle forgot to mind.

Belle’s lip quivered. “It was my father,” she told him, lingering on top of him despite the impropriety of it. He wasn’t a man technically, and also, he was warm. Plus, she did not want to be by herself right now. “He felt so real.”

“It was a ghoul,” he said quietly when she had stopped shaking. “I told you not to fall asleep.”

“You did no such thing,” Belle complained, pushing back until she loomed over him. His eyes plummeted and for a moment, Belle thought he was staring at her chest. Then, she remembered.

She clasped a hand to where the doll hung, knocked loose from where she had placed it in the upheaval of her third- fourth?- near death experience that evening. He did not say anything, but sat up and began to pluck leaves from his hair. 

Belle sat nearby, looking at him in embarrassment, clutching the doll in her bloodless fingers. “My name is Belle,” she said, after a moment. Wanting to offer him something, though she could not explain why. “Did you...do you have a name? 

He did not respond. After a moment, he pointed behind her. “Eat,” he said tonelessly, before standing and striding away from her. 

Where she had fallen asleep, there was a basket full of breads, meats, and cheeses with a bottle of wine that still smelled of the kitchens. She wanted to ask where he had gotten it, but instead she simply nodded. She should have thanked him for saving her again, for bringing her food, for comforting her, but she could not bring herself to do it. 

There had been a shift, and now she was as lost as ever. 

\-- 

Sated, and too rattled by her run in with the ghoul to be tired, Belle now only had to deal with her shivers and the added chattering of her teeth. It was a late summer, though the harvest was already underway and the nights were cold. Her companion did not seem to have any issue whatsoever, moving languidly up ahead, leading her to their destination. 

Belle had taken to holding the odd doll in her hand, turning it over gently as if it was a sleeping child. The moon’s soft light, filtered by the trees overhead, softened the doll’s rough appearance. The button eyes seemed alive, winking up at her as the red thread frown twitched as if on the verge of a smile. 

“We’re here.” 

They stood in a small clearing of sorts. Rocks lumped up around them as if someone had placed them here. Belle did not see any apple tree, but said so, as politely as she could. 

Her guide looked at her as if she had gone daft. “Not at the tree,” he drawled. “Home.” 

Without further comment, he turned and disappeared among the stones to his left. Belle stood in the odd circle, before hurrying after him. The stones went higher and higher as she hurried after him, and the moon grew darker. She clutched the doll tightly in her hand, even as a voice whispered in her ear that she should not blindly follow a creature into its cavern.

The rocks ended abruptly, and she almost did not see the continuation to her right. She turned, hurrying down the hall, for that was what it was now. The stones had formed a wall, and a ceiling hung overhead, far too close for most men to walk under comfortably, but she was short and it was warm here. 

“Are we underground?” Belle asked the darkness before her, trusting her guide was just out of sight. A fire burst into being, an explosion of color in the dark before her eyes adjusted. They stood in a great cavern, with carvings in the stone and mighty pillars supporting the roof. Belle gazed at it in open mouthed wonder, noting the various doors that led out of the great room. 

There was a large pit, where the fire was crackling merry, warming the room quickly. Belle sank down in front of it gratefully, careful to put the doll in her lap before lifting her hands to the flames. Her guide stayed just out of sight in the shadows, and though she could not see his face, she felt him watching her.

“Why didn’t you wait and take the doll?” Belle asked after a moment of silence. “Back by the bushes?” 

It had been bothering her since it had occurred to her. She had been asleep, her body under the tree, but her spirit in the next world walking with the ghoul. As soon as the ghoul had consumer her conscious, he could have slipped the doll free and disappeared, but he hadn’t.

“We had a deal,” he said simply, his voice echoing slightly. He did not elaborate, and Belle fell silent. She let her eyes wander the room, noticing piles of hay all along the far wall, carefully away from the fire. The floor was covered in some places with furs, all carefully preserved and while worn, clean. In all, the den of the creature looked rather like a primeval castle of sorts. 

“You have a lovely home,” she said politely. He scoffed in reply. “No, really,” Belle said, trying to figure how to convey what she meant to him. “The markings on the wall, did you carve those?” 

He swallowed, a dry, painful sound that carried to her in the silence. “My...son did.” 

“Your son?” Belle said, her fingers spasming slightly as feeling creeped back into them. “I didn’t know you had a son. What’s his name?” 

“Baelfire. His name was Baelfire.” 

His voice was monotonous, but it was hard to miss the point he was trying to make. “I’m sorry,” Belle said softly. The doll frowned up at her, and with trembling fingers she plucked it from her lap. “This was his?”

He nodded, a barely distinguishable movement as he disappeared further back into the shadows. “I must have dropped it,” he said, more to himself than her, and the desperate, maniac tone was back in his voice. “Lost it. Forgot it.”

Belle stood, and nearly stumbled over her skirts as she hurried over to him. He shrank back, but she pressed on until she could grab his hand. He froze as she pressed the odd doll into his palm, eyes locked on his. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, and her voice was steady. “I didn’t realize what it meant to you.” 

He stared at her in bewilderment, fingers not closing over her own but laying motionless underneath the doll. “This is not the deal,” he croaked, searching her face for something. “This was the only thing guaranteeing your safety.

“I trust you,” Belle said softly. She meant it too. His fingers slowly closed over the doll, then lightly brushed the back of her hand. She left it there, smiling at him in the shadows, the fire warm on her back. He lifted his free hand to her hair, pushing the curls out of her face to better see her eyes. 

“We should go,” he finally said, and Belle slipped her hand out of his grip with a nod. “We’ll go the rest of the way through the tunnels.” He indicated a nearby passageway, before gently moving to place the doll on a nearby wooden stool, set in the far corner. 

Away from the fire’s bright light, Belle could see a ring of dried flowers surrounded the chair, child’s art hung on the wall around it, and a pair of shoes sat underneath it, waiting for the son to come home. She did not dare ask what had happened to her companion or his son, or how they had come to live here in the woods with the creatures that went bump in the night. 

“Belle?” 

He said her name as if it was a question, as if it was capable of giving him answers to the things that tormented him. He said it like a benediction, like a wish and Belle’s heart seized in her chest in an odd way that made her breath come short. No one had ever said her name like that. 

“Yes?” 

“My name was...is...Rumpelstiltskin.”

It should have sounded like a sneeze, but to Belle, it rang like a song.

\-- 

They walked side by side the rest of the way, and if their hands brushed or their shoulders touched, neither of them said anything. The underground cavern was earth and stone, older than anything Belle had ever known, but she felt safe there, as if she belonged here in the earth. There was no time here, no loss, no sorrow, just the steady breath of the man beside her and the odd skipping beat of her own heart. 

He told her what plants roots had buried into the walls, spun stories out of thin air to keep her distracted from their walk, and chuckled when his wicked quips elicited laughs from her. The creature from the tree had vanished entirely. It was as if he was remembering what it meant to be human. Even though his scales and talons were still there, Belle stopped seeing them. It was the oddest thing, but his company became as familiar to her as her own shadow. 

When he stopped abruptly, it took Belle a second to realize they had arrived. They were in a round room, and overhead gnarly roots spanned the ceiling, looking much like the gazebo roofs in the gardens back home. Rumpelstiltskin did not look at her, but waved his hand. Wisps of smoke, so dark they were almost black, wrapped them both in its fingers and disappeared. 

They stood in a clearing, but the moon was gone. The late morning sun streamed down on them, illuminating the apple tree standing like a sentry in the glen. Red, juicy apples hung heavy on its branches, all winking at her in the golden light. 

Belle reached up to snap one free, marveling at the smooth skin and vibrant color. It was like nothing she had ever seen, more of a ruby shaped jewel than an actual apple. It was heavy in her hand. “Well, then,” she said, turning to look back up into the tree. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Rumplestiltskin was not smiling, but looking morosely at the tree. 

“What’s wrong?” Belle asked, moving to join him at the base of the tree. She slipped her hand in his, offering the fruit to him with an encouraging smile. “Try a bite?” 

His other hand closed over the apple, pushing it back down by her side. “Do not eat this fruit,” he told her, voice cracking. “Promise me.”

Belle blinked. The memory of one of their first conversations about the beauty in danger echoed in her ears. “Is it poisonous?” 

“In a way,” he replied, looking down at his feet. “Just promise me, Belle.” 

She smiled fondly at him, and with a nod, promised. 

\-- 

Their trip back to the wood’s edge went much smoother. With the sun blazing down, they moved much more quickly, though Belle tried her best to lag. Rumplestiltskin did not appear to notice, but he also would stop time to time to point out the creatures of the forest. 

They stumbled upon gnomes sunbathing by the creek bed, faery rings and a glimpse of a unicorn through the trees. Rumpelstiltskin grumbled about all these creatures. “This is why I don’t come out during the day,” he pouted as a fairy whizzed past his ear blowing raspberries at them. Belle laughed, leaning her cheek against his shoulder as they sat underneath a great pine tree, their shoes kicked off as they savored the grass under their feet.

Sure, he was coarse, and unrefined, slightly mad and a little diabolical, but Belle didn’t mind in the slightest. The woods had been enchanting in the evening, dark and mysterious, forbidding and dangerous but in the day, the forest was magical. Flowers bloomed as they walked by, creatures chirped and chattered at them, and even in the silence, Belle felt more at peace than she had ever felt in her rooms back at the castle.

“What shall we do tomorrow?” Belle asked as he held his hand out to her as they waded across a much smaller stream. For a moment, he looked gobsmacked, and Belle let out a laugh.

“Tomorrow?” he repeated, trailing after her on the opposite riverbank. He sounded so hopeful, it made her heart do flips in her chest and the urge to smile at him grew so great, she almost missed it entirely.

A great black coach sat on a trail nearby, with four great black skeleton horses standing at silent attention. Rumplestiltskin moved to stand in front of her, but Belle already knew who it was.

She sank into a curtsey. Rumplestiltskin did not follow her, but stayed tense at her side, a low growl in his throat.

“You did not say the apple was for a witch,” he hissed in her ear. Before she could respond, the carriage door flew open.

“My, my,” the sorceress said, coming down from her carriage. “You survived after all.”

Belle held the apple up, smiling proudly. Before the sorceress could respond, Rumplestiltskin had torn it out of her hand. “No,” he hissed. “She can’t have it.”

The sorceress scoffed, moving closer until she stood before them. She peered at Rumplestiltskin, and Belle straightened hurriedly, wanting to tug him back across the stream, which must have been a border between the Enchanted Forest and the more well traveled King’s Woods.

“You’ve domesticated a...an Imp,” the sorceress said with a tinge of astonishment. Belle had never heard of such a creature before, but it somehow fit Rumplestiltskin perfectly. “How unexpected.”

“Witch,” he hissed back at her. “Be gone.”

“Oh, no, we’re in my world now,” the sorceress laughed, though she did not pluck the apple from his hand. “Come, little lamb,” she said to Belle with a wink. “Fetch my prize and let us go.” 

“Go?” Belle said, wrinkling her brow. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

The sorceress turned to her in astonishment. “I promised you adventure,” she reminded her. “A life outside the castle walls.” 

“I found that on my own,” Belle told her, crossing her arms pointedly. “I fetched you your apple as thanks for showing me the way.” 

“Fool,” the witch snarled, holding an empty hand out. “Give it to me then.”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin growled, fingers tightening around the fruit until it snapped and crunched. Juices started to run down his arm, sprinkling the ground at their feet. 

“How dare you!” the witch howled, jerking to grab it from his hand. “That’s mine!” 

Magic radiated from both of them, anger and desperation so thick it nearly choked Belle where she stood. This was her fault. She had unwittingly done this, and she had to make it right. 

At a loss, Belle did the only thing she could think to do. She reached in between them, grabbed the ruins of the apple from Rumplestiltskin’s hand, and without pause, crammed the juicy pulp into her mouth. 

She saw the furious eyes of the sorceress, black nails reaching into her mouth and behind this vision, the terrified golden eyes of Rumpelstiltskin. 

His voice echoed in her ears as her vision grew black.

“You promised.”

\-- 

The Fruit of the Tree is known for many things.

It holds wisdom.

It contains knowledge.

It reveals the unknown.

However, it does all of these things only to those who eat of it, and those who take a bite of the Enchanted Forest apple fall into a deep, deep sleep. There, they learn all, but at the price of an eternal sleep.

In the King’s Woods, a sorceress disappears down the road, daunted by a slip of a girl and an imp of all things. Furious at how close she came to acquiring the last ingredient she needed, she hurries off to find the next innocent to send into the woods for her search for an apple. She will soon stumble upon a small family, a woodcutter and his children, but that is another story.

Back on the right side of the stream, an Imp cradles the limp body of a lady, and weeps over her, crooning forgotten lullabies to the sleeping beauty.

\--

As for Belle, her dreams are not peaceful, but beautiful.

She sees her mother and father dancing at their wedding, sharing their first kiss in secret as teenagers betrothed to others, and even the day her grandparents met. She witnesses the rise of Avonlea, the birth of kings, and the death of legends. 

She watches all of history unfolding and all the while she wonders where he is. 

As if in answer, the reel slows. 

A cottage appears out of the fog of time, set by the woods, as a man comes limping out of the small structure. At his side, a boy of nine chatters happily, tugging at his father’s worn cloak, a now familiar doll clutched in his other hand. The man smiles down at him, takes the doll and places it on his shoulders and Belle’s breath catches in her throat as Rumplestiltskin's eyes glance straight through her. 

Another scene, this time in winter. They are hungry, the father scooping his portion on his son’s plate, pretending to have eaten already. The son knows, but pretends not to, knowing another argument is not worth it. 

Night has fallen. Father and son huddle under a tree for warmth, searching for food in the forest. Around them, the woods are quiet, peaceful. They talk and smile, despite the gaunt bones of their cheeks and the hollow pits in their stomachs. 

They find the stones, learn the secrets of the world beneath the trees. They eat like kings in the woods, learning the secrets of magic. They are happy here, safe and content. The forest gifts them power and wisdom, happy to share its bounty with the two kind humans. There is nothing to fear here in this simpler time. 

It’s years later now. They find the apple tree. Belle watches as Baelfire, for it must be Baelfire though he is a man now, perched up high on a branch. He reaches up to snag an apple, laughing in pleasure. His father stands nearby, shaking his head in amusement and gesturing for him to come down. The son ignores him and bites into the apple. His eyes are bright but then his eyes slip closed in slumber. He plummets to the earth, and his head hits the ground with a sickening crack. 

Tears are in her eyes as she kneels beside the freshly dug grave beside Rumplestiltskin whose eyes are blank with grief. “You thought the apple killed him,” Belle whispers, wanting nothing more than to touch him, comfort him. “But it only made him fall asleep. If he hadn’t hit his head...”

The father grows cold. Grief and sorrow twists him. All he has left is their home, and an old rag doll to remember his son by. The forest grows dark with him, and the father becomes a creature of the woods. Monsters come to roost, and the creature that was once a man forgets. 

Belle stays with him, walking beside him and seeing all the terrible things he does. Years fly by, and she still follows him, a witness to his cruelty and rage, grief and loneliness, and though it is sometimes hard to watch, it only makes her love him more.

Time has lost meaning for her. So, when she sees the doll fall from his pocket to the ground, she almost forgets she knows what happens next. A lady appears in the darkness, pale face shining like a lantern in the moonlight. 

Now, Belle knows why so many monsters were drawn to them. She radiated naivety here in this dark world, invited the creatures who had forgotten innocence to come to her. As her past self moves on down the moonlit path, Belle sees Rumplestiltskin watching from nearby trees. 

She relives their adventure, the Rulaski, the werewolf, the ghoul and the cave. She follows behind as they return to the wood’s edge, and watches powerlessly as she swallows the apple remnant once more. 

It’s worth it, she decides, seeing the witch retreat and discovering Rumplestiltskin is left unharmed. 

Still, it breaks her heart to see him mourn her, and she wants nothing more than to tell him how to break the spell, but she can’t. She’s lost in time and he will never know. 

Still, she stays with him, even if it is only in her dreams.

 

\-- _Epilogue_ \--

In the Enchanted Forest, there stands an apple tree.

It is as tall as a giant, with limbs that stretch as far as a dragon’s length. Underneath it, there lies a woman, too beautiful to bury and who time has not touched. She has slept for a hundred years, and will sleep for a hundred more. She is guarded by a spirit of the forest, protector of the tree and savior to the lost souls who wander into the forest.

One day, a second son will come and attempt to waken her with true love’s kiss.

He will fail.

Miserably.

However, as he is begging for his life from the furious spirit that guards the beauty, he will tell the creature he was merely attempting true love’s kiss and meant no harm. While fleeing for his life, the second son will miss the next part of this story.

For the Imp, feeling incredibly forward, will bend down and press his lips softly against her lips. She will awaken, wrap both her arms around her dear Imp, and kiss him back until they are both breathless.

After that, the Enchanted Forest became a place of wonder and delight, protected by an all seeing Queen known for her bravery, brains and beauty and her mischievous King, a spirit of the woods with powerful magic and a wicked sense of humor.

Maidens explore the woods, discovering unicorns and fairies in the shadowy glens. Heroes explore the hidden wonders of the forest, learning the secrets and lessons it can impart. Children play in the creeks and under branches, their laughter echoing throughout the trees.

It is said that the Enchanted Forest is the only place in all the land where true love reigns.

All because a beauty fell in a love with a beast.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! This was inspired by some creepy forest stories, and my love of DarkOne!Rumple and Lady!Belle. Plus, couldn't resist getting hag/sorceress/evil queen action in. ;)


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